Velladonna smiles faintly. Then, deliberately adjusting her seat in the chair, she says:
“That’s right. They’re rushing us from above—’Hurry up and catch the Life-Taker,’ they say. Well, if you don’t want to, that’s fine too. But what do you think? Or maybe you’d prefer going to Navaco? Being thanked by the elderly isn’t so bad, you know? A young person like you willing to do manual labor would surely be welcomed with open arms~”
Crossing her legs elegantly, she poses the question.
If Rogue refused, that’s exactly how it would go. Velladonna’s decisions were swift. He had already seen far too many fall victim to that speed. He couldn’t afford to follow their example.
“Director.”
Rogue spoke gravely, and Velladonna tilted her head.
“Mmm~?”
“…Where is the station located?”
In the end, Rogue had no choice but to say those words.
READ THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATION AT LOCALIZERMEERKAT.PAGES.DEV
The Empire, which occupies the lower half of the Dean Continent, has a capital city, Ireil, shaped almost like a crescent moon. Positioned at the edge of the continent, it serves as the heart of foreign trade and the Empire’s economy.
Divided into nine districts, the city has the sea to the left, a business district of towering skyscrapers at its center, and hills leading inland at its upper reaches. A twenty-minute drive from the Investigation Bureau’s headquarters brings you to those hills, where the urban clamor fades as if it never existed, replaced by a high-end residential area.
The building Rogue sought stood at the edge of the district.
It looked like a church—or rather, it would have, were it not for the thick ivy choking its walls, the peeling exterior, and the fact that it might as well have been abandoned ruins. But the designated location was here. Had Rogue not been told beforehand, he might have missed it entirely.
Not that its dilapidated appearance mattered much for work. Velladonna had said the Sixth Branch Station existed underground—apparently for confidentiality reasons, though that explanation felt dubious.
Upon entering the church, Rogue froze.
On the left edge of the pulpit’s wall was a door. A heavy iron door, as if forcibly installed in this derelict chapel.
Then, a voice spoke.
“You must be Rogue Macabesta, the investigator.”
It sounded like a young girl’s voice. Was there a speaker somewhere? The sound echoed unnaturally.
“……Yeah, that’s me.”
As if catching his response, the voice answered immediately.
“Please wait where you are. We will now verify your identity.”
But no one appeared. Was there a hidden camera too?
Rogue waited as instructed—until suddenly, the pulpit door slid open. Silently, smoothly, it retracted into the wall, revealing an elevator several meters ahead.
“Identity confirmed. Please proceed inside.”
Following the voice’s direction, Rogue stepped onto the pulpit. As he reached where the iron door had been, the elevator doors parted. The interior was spacious—far more than needed for one person—with pristine white walls, floor, and ceiling. It felt completely isolated from the decay outside.
No further instructions came.
After a single glance back, Rogue boarded the elevator.
But as the doors closed, a suffocating unease crept in. He thought he’d accepted this, yet doubts resurfaced. The underground. Was working down here even feasible? For a desk worker, maybe. But Rogue was an investigator. He couldn’t just stay cooped up forever.
The descent felt endless. Just how deep were they going? As Rogue began to wonder if time itself had stretched impossibly, the doors opened abruptly.
“You have arrived.”
Stepping over the threshold at the voice’s prompt, Rogue was met with a vast, open space.
A few round tables and chairs were scattered about, some occupied. The area was open-air, allowing a view of other floors. Each level had elegant doors lining its perimeter, with glass railings enclosing the walkways. No ivy here. No peeling paint.
The unexpectedly normal station interior held Rogue’s gaze—until he realized something.
(Where are the other investigators?)
Even if they were in a hurry, someone should have been there. Yet, within sight, there wasn’t a single adult.
What was Velladonna thinking? Standing around wouldn’t help, so Rogue moved forward—only to find a bespectacled girl waiting at the hall’s center. Her pale skin and dark-circled eyes framed a delicate but sickly face.
“Welcome to the Sixth Branch Station, Investigator Rogue. I am Rico Raina, the clerk here. If you require anything, please don’t hesitate.”
She bowed, but one thing she said stuck in Rogue’s mind.
“Investigator Rogue.”
Not “Chief”. That was how she addressed him.
“…Just Rogue is fine. There are a few things I’d like to ask—”
“Of course.”
“Is this really the Sixth Branch Station?”
Rogue scanned the hall.
Some sat in chairs, others leaned against walls reading books, and a few draped themselves over the upper-floor railings. A quick count put the number at twelve. And all twelve were young girls. Nothing about them screamed “Magic Crime Investigation Bureau.”
Yet Rico nodded.
“Yes, this is undoubtedly the Sixth Branch.”
“I was told I’d be the Chief… Where are the other investigators? Are they all out?”
“You are the only one here with investigative authority. In that sense, calling you the Chief is correct, Investigator Rogue.”
Her words were final, delivered with lifeless eyes.
A wave of dizziness hit Rogue.
“…Then who are these people?”
“Prisoners.”
“Prisoners?!”
Why would they be inside a station? A flood of questions surged, but Rogue held them back, asking only the most critical one:
“…I was sent here by the Director to investigate the Life-Taker—not to babysit criminals. Can I actually work here?”
Even as he lowered his voice, Rico remained unfazed.
“There will be no issues. While they are prisoners, these individuals are special. Allow me to introduce them. Let’s move closer.”
She strode briskly toward the girls.
Frowning, Rogue followed, his mistrust growing with each step. The whole exchange felt rehearsed, as if she were ticking off a checklist.
Soon, they stopped before a girl who had claimed an entire round table for herself. Despite Rico’s promise of introductions, the girl’s eyes remained shut, her breathing even—as if asleep. Yet Rico spoke anyway, unbothered.
“This is Miseria. She specializes in mental interference magic, capable of turning humans into [dolls]. Her designation is “The Doll Demon.” In the past, she killed a member of the imperial family—alongside every guard in the vicinity, all transformed into her puppets.”
The girl in question sat with legs crossed, cheek propped on her hand, utterly still. She wore a white jacket and skirt, her long white hair spilling over the table and her legs.
Aside from her overwhelmingly pale aesthetic, she looked like an ordinary girl. Nothing out of place.
Yet Rogue’s instincts screamed. An ordinary girl. That’s what she should have been. But by the time he began recalling his memories, it was too late.
Rico’s voice reached Rogue’s ears, slow and deliberate:
“…And under special jurisdictional measures, her execution date has been set for six thousand years from now. As decreed by the Noble Council—”
Rogue’s heartbeat thundered.
“—she is the Thirteenth Witch.”
Those final words turned unease into certainty.
“…What did you just say?”
Rogue’s voice came out hoarse.
Rico tilted her head.
“Did I misspeak? This information aligns with what’s taught in the Investigator Academy’s curriculum.”
“…I know that.”
“Then is there a problem? Regarding Witch Miseria?”
“…Witches are supposed to be in Undeworth. Why is one here?”
Rico raised her left hand, gesturing to the floors above.
“Ah, you mean the Fortress Prison Undeworth. Rest assured—this place is also an Undeworth. Like the others, it’s protected by large-scale barrier magic and anti-detection spells, alongside state-of-the-art surveillance systems. Unauthorized entry is impossible.”
“…That’s not what I’m asking!”
Rogue’s voice sharpened involuntarily.
“Why the hell is a Witch just loose in here?!”
Did this clerk even understand? If a Witch willed it, everyone here—Rogue included—could be erased in an instant.
Long before magic spread to the masses, Witches existed in the Empire. True monsters, fused with magic itself, ageless and unstoppable. They appeared without warning, each leaving catastrophic devastation in their wake.
Some vaporized entire cities without a trace. Others sparked riots with hundreds of thousands of casualties. There were even incidents where thousands vanished overnight—proof that Witches were no mere fairy tales.
Yet—
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